Best Riding On Poems
Two riding on a single
Man! How fast that bike will go
Down the hill around the curve
Blow wind blow
At the very bottom piled up
In a culvert drain
In great agony and pain
Totally distained
Crumpled metal, torn clothes
Bleeding and blood stains
Harsh words from parents
Tears as soap and water cleaned
All the cuts and bruises
And clothes that had to be changed
What an ending to Christmas
The joy of Santa's gift
Lying dented and scuffed bent
Beside the porch needing to be fixed
It is on this day
Into his elegant horizons
Where cirrus clouds are sprayed from sunrises and sunsets
Attuned within throat of violins
An example of his concave humanity
Preaching fond memories in baritone clefs
An embrace of admirations’ core within exhaled stanzas
Forcing trembled knees to stand against robe of Death
His double entendres know no bounds
My iridescent conundrums become resolutions’ pavement
As I grab aloe-coated tissues
Wiping joyous tears from his laughter induced statements
He pours wisdom in foaming, oat-flavored pints
While we relish in his charming, devilish wit
Slowing down a rushed humanity
Bit by luminescent bit
Yes, it is on this day
Where I choose to declare in Quatrain formed sentence
To the one that puts the “man” in humanity
An affirmation on why I bow in Santa’s reverence
©Drake J. Eszes
Dedicated to the almighty Jack Ellison and my 1st Quatrain!
In the dim and distant past, i cycled around
Slow and fast, past sleepy houses, on small city blocks.' In the morning fresh when its not yet hot ' sometimes a daring
Cat shot in front, aloof and sleek, no play for me then on bots..I recall the rich sent of
Fresh cut lawn, before the day would swallow, this placid morn' i recall milk bottles sitting on front door stoops, as pidgeons scattering, as the hawk broke loose, out a of a blue yonder, with whistling
Wings, echoing the sound of my bike wheels, as i turn for home i hear the church
Bell ring.'
RIDING ON THE MOONRISE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In monochromatic musings the moon rises--a deep silver ballerina, turning pirouettes with perfect form. In eternal stoic grace, she takes her place in the heavens, content to ever-reflect the light of the sun. Her moonbeams appear as runways in the starry night.
dreams ride on moonbeams
hung from that silver being
as dreams always do
I’m ~love drunk on desire~
and feel as if I’m swinging,
legs
dangling,
from a crimson crescent moon
that can even
~seduce the stars without a script.~
See me here.
I’m a longing
scintillating Supernova
in a sky of Prussian blue
trying like a tantalizing Lilith
to tittilate you.
Will you join me in
my ~fever of fixation~?
Blaze for me
like planet Vulcan and
~melt my tears into your sweet fire.~
Shake the sky
that I’m wobbling in
as I ride my passion crescent moon.
Set me to t
u
m
b
l
i
n
g
the way the clouds
~spill a thousand secrets~.
Send me at long last
into your spinning orbit
which I burn for
as do holders of
those thousand cloud-tossed
scarlet secrets.
Entwine me in your arms.
I want to twirl and whirl
inside this night of indigo with you
til each and every star
has flickered out
in
to
o b l i v i o n
(Word encased by ~ symbols represent prompts in the contest)
Donkey’s in the land of Israel in the 1st century,
Were used to carry goods about the country,
But could also carry women, children and the ill,
Because they were strong and quiet, did chill.
So when Jesus entered Jerusalem on that day,
On the Sunday before his crucifixion, away,
He deliberately chose a donkey to ride on,
To communicate effectively, with abbreviation.
A donkey was premium to the professions,
The areas industry’s for selling productions,
Which depended on donkeys for transportation,
For their future and reputation’s momentum.
So Jesus was saying by riding that donkey,
That he was key to the wave that they did see,
That how his death was remembered, thought,
Would determine the legacy that he’d wrought.
Also, he assumed a sensitivity by that ride,
A vulnerability that he had and he felt inside,
Because he took the place of a fragile person,
Suggesting that memories were your liaison.
So he won and achieved a triumphant entry,
Because he proclaimed himself Christianity,
And that, just like a child, he needs lifted up,
Onto the donkey, where there’s a warm cup.
The universe revolves around patterns and numbers.
Like an insomniac knowing not the meaning of the word slumber.
To say it's a big place would be a gross understatement.
If it were a face we'd be living on a farthing of a freckle,
a speck within a speck, in a weak attempt at communicating
with other fellow specks.
So where does that leave us,
being little more than dust riding on the coattails of pebble?
In the grander scheme of things
are we just the byproduct that some entity imagined one day
from a place both incredibly near and far, far away?
One who is a whiz at math no doubt...
Just look at the population,
how in it's in a constant state of progressive multiplication,
born into a world yet only to be divided into petty categories:
White, black, brown, yellow,
short, tall, slim, fat,
Asian, Caucasian,
European, Indian,
Yugoslavian, Brazilian.
It's a wonder we are recognized at all
living on this ball within a greater ball.
You wonder who holds the strings
or if we're all just windup toys;
alive and exciting for a time
only to run into the last gear,
the last programmed function.
Just what in the world are we doing here?
The universe may practice it's progressive multiplication
and subsequent division. That doesn't bother me.
What I personally like to do is find the GCD (greatest common denominator)...
... the fact we live and breathe. Ears to hear and eyes to see. So pick up the pieces... we have a long way to go if we can ever hope to solve this puzzle.
Though we may be a speck within a speck
riding on the coattails of a pebble, rejoice
with me. That you ARE, that you BE.
Take a good long look
at what surrounds you. It is much more than
it appears.
I don't know all the answers, but I do believe
we have a purpose here.
For the Nationality Contest.
Lyrics sung by Johnny Cash in "The Long Black Train"
"I said cling to the Father and his Holy name,
And don't go ridin' on that long black train."
there's a conductor
waiting to take your ticket
for a pleasure ride. . .
johnny cash said no can do
his chariot is the clouds
For the TRAINS AND FANTASY Contest of Mystic Rose
RIDING ON
Destination Dallas
home of the cowboys
land of the brave
intentional target
aimed with precision
at new paths to pave
gravitational phase
surrealistic
skyward wave
spurred on to
something new
beneath God’s
sun and moon
eyes turn inward
anchors pull out
onwards toward
landfalls legends
devoid of doubt
brevity flawed
weak kneed but
hardened jaw
riding on….
© Kim van Breda—14 August 2015
(moving on in life to USA)
Sometimes a normal life can become epic,
But this thing called fate has a bag full of tricks.
Every day in my village, out of the window,
I saw the face of a graceful belle who had the sun’s glow.
I wanted to confess my love for her but the time wasn’t right;
A mysterious man from the faraway castle kidnapped her one night.
She needed help I thought; she left without a goodbye.
I knew I needed to do something not just lament & cry.
So the cat inside me turned into a lion,
And I rode off on my steed with arms of iron.
I travelled for long, cold nights, ten,
In the Valley of Ice where everything was frozen.
The only thing keeping me alive was my love,
As I faced creatures like that dragon from above.
The scaly beast wanted to eat me; it roared loudly bringing my ears pain.
But the sound created an avalanche and the next moment, it got slain.
I kept on walking, covered in white from head to toe.
Little did I know that I was yet to face the wicked dwarves of the snow?
But on seeing me half frozen, half wounded, they got scared and ran.
The puny blokes might have thought that I am an abominable snowman!
So after surviving these hours of tiredness & frustration,
I finally saw the gates of that majestic castle; I had reached my destination.
The doors to the fort were surprisingly not closed.
And the deadly crocodiles in the pool had lazily dozed.
I got inside and saw a hairy, cruel looking beast.
Looked like he could eat a hundred men for a feast.
I felt like killing him but his sight had turned my skin white & pale.
Then I saw that he was being hugged by a belle, it was the same female.
I got shocked but she told me the beast was actually kind.
And so she began to love her abductor; I realized that love was blind!
The brute turned out to be a good fellow with a heart of gold.
Needed he someone to give him company in this lonely blanket of cold.
Then I bid the couple adieu with a heavy heart.
And I rode on to a new place for a new start.
I had cheated death but failed to win the girl who I thought was mine.
Still, I’m not distressed anymore, at least she’s smiling & fine.
Once there was a farmer
Who rode to the pub on a llama
He said "In Peru
It's the thing to do
Isn't she a charmer?"
Riding on the Wind
I share with you a memory of an autumn afternoon;
unloading weekends shopping; such a normal task to do.
Then something moving on my left and this is what I saw;
a whirlwind holding steady, just less than six feet tall.
A spectacle of dust and leaves demanding my attention;
the feeling washing over me; a loving warm sensation.
Without pause, nonchalant; I wasn't in dismay.
Aloud, I spoke, "Hello Uncle George, how are you today?"
Then almost as if walking, gently swaying left and right;
I'd missed him but now he'd appeared, much to my delight.
Approaching just within arms reach, and steady there once more;
I smiled at him. This was no doubt the Uncle I adored.
As whispered breeze he touched my face, oh so tenderly.
I can't explain, but I could feel him smiling back at me.
For several seconds we conversed; hearts speaking to each other;
He'll meet me there on Jordan's shore, when my time to cross over.
So generous of heaven, for its' angels there to lend.
A favored uncle's precious soul........... Riding on the wind.
Skiing down the slope at twilight
Riding 'pon fear and hope
To avoid the avalanche's spill
Aurora's colors scope
Twilight's green flashes etched across
Night's dark sky in suspense
Loose white, soft, fluffy snow powder
Fear_muscles tense, sounds sense
A twilight adventure exposed
This evening's soft aura
Once in a lifetime adventure
Avalanche and aurora
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Contest:Aurora And Avalanche
Written:March 04, 2015
(A poem dedicated to Khadiza Merry)
They all heard that,
Jesus is riding on a bus, these days.
Vinay from the remotest eastern village was an eye-witness
He just acknowledged today, in confirmation.
I was counting those quarters. One by one.
The unpaid dues for the neighborhood store...
When silence honors every single voice out there
One can be a meaningful one for afterlife, with a storekeeper.
And slowly,
I sustained.
I was tamed within
With those hot, warm sweaty humid minutes.
And I gifted a land of own, aged for long, to the storekeeper.
Will it be an identifiable generosity accompanied with the right hand?
A specially biased right hand?
There are need of mirrors, here and there.
These attires, dress etiquette and dress colors too...
Under the slender palm trees, the virgin Mary cries here, also
Somewhere, a frozen conversation dies in silence, with a noisy air-cooler.
Remember Funom Makama,
Who went riding on a llama,
And viewed,
Family feud;
Fell off then had a trauma.
Jim Horn